*
tall piles of books
tall piles of paper
tall piles of drawings
tall piles of note taking
tall piles of poems scribbled
a few empty jars cleaned out
I live in my ideal city pushed
back in the corner I sit
each title a windows’
line each space
a possibility
.
*
I now let the sun showering
over my head
filled with troubled thoughts
sleepless my night
tied up by uncertain feelings
I could not see
the light that sets me free
.
*
la vita come
scuola ci prepara
ad un altro mondo
ci accoglie prima
il nido poi il volo
.
Some Sundays posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry, feel free to enjoy them. On Tuesday post will be in English as usual.
*
such lightness
silence lingers
I thrive under
silence falls on us
to help us on
telling what is you
have to be
silent to hear poetry
.
*
when you honor
three layers of mountains
brown beige and purple
straight ahead of you
against a bright blue drape
not noticing the golf ball
poems come floating
the crystal breeze
This poem is part of the collection California Notebooks 02 written in Indian Wells, California.
*
to find the way
to that hiding place
right inside me
and right in the middle
build a nest
where to cuddle where
to sing to rest
inside of me the eternal
.
.
*
silent are my dead
ancestors
silent are the graves
.
as the photos
mingles in brown tones
or gray hues
.
we gathered little
information
despite searching
,
but a powerful
emotional feeling
raising inward
.
.
.
Sundays’ are dedicated to Italian Poetry
*
siamo evanescenti
siamo temporanei
.
siamo sospensione
del fiato divino siamo
la pausa tra le parole
.
siamo il sacro steso
alla luce quotidiana
.
.
.
On Tuesday poems will be posted in English as usual.
Sì, il martedì le poesie saranno in inglese come sempre.
.
*
when poetry comes
as a soft gliding
over my feelings
searching to appease
me a gentle caress
.
.
*
cultivate love
not for one person
alone distinguish
like from love
choose to love
you will grow the
perfect climate
to rise in beauty
in good company
.
.
*
as the day cast its light
in different corners
of my house
I roam
my garden
seeking for different
silent spots where to bloom
.
.
*
we all walk
bundled up on
winter days
but the dogs
jump for joy
the old man
will not sit by
his fire he takes
himself out
slowly stretching
his steps next
to the lines
of poplars
he will walk to
the end not
a thought
of surrender
.
© 2013
.
Sundays are dedicated to Italian Poetry
*
attendo che questa
poesia mi crolli addosso
come una cascata
che porti via un sudore
inutile che riempia
di frescura la mia gola
assetata di armonia
che tessono poco
queste mie mani
.
.
Yes, on Tuesdays the poems will be in English, as usual.
Sí, il martedì le poesie saranno come al solito in inglese.
*
don’t many of us
in this life get the chance
to be human
.
even if for a brief
moment of vulnerability
.
tenderness entwined in
with love and forgiveness
embracing mistakes
.
ours or others
understanding
there are no podiums
.
but one race
just one step
following
the other
.
one person
looking after another
keeping our necks oiled
to turn around
any given time
.
.
.
*
I place my steps
orderly
in front of me
.
the gravel sounds
sending approval
.
seeking a way to put
myself
in focus as I move
.
.
